12.29.2004
It's what you make of it
“ ’cause everywhere you go, you take you with youIn 1998 I met Johanna Classen. My friend Julie introduced us when Johanna’s band, The Most Secret Method (from Washington DC), played a show here at Boston’s in Tempe. Johanna (an amazing bassist) and I had a short conversation about local music in which I expressed my disillusionment with the Phoenix music scene. Her reply completely changed my perspective. ‘It’s what you make of it’, she said. I paused, then shrunk, defeated by my whiney comment. First of all, she was right. Second of all, she was cute and I just made a total ass of myself. I had heard “Phoenix music sucks” over and over in my head for the past 4 years and I had started to first believe, then regurgitate it…without any critical thought. I never forgot it. So I was more than a little nervous when I heard she was in town. I wondered if she’d remember our conversation. Either way, it’d be neat to say hi and hang out. At the house, Johanna, Edie, Julie, Clancy, and I talked about everything from traveling, to bad professors, to sexy Seattleites. I learned that Johanna and I were both born in July, 1972. When I was leaving, Edie noticed that we also had the same truck. It’s funny how the world revolves bringing paths together, then apart, then back together again. I’m thankful that I had a chance to “redeem” myself and have a much less embarrassing conversation with Johanna. And I’m thankful for the impression her perspective made upon me. My parallel universe buddy, stopping by to remind me that everything’s what I make of it.
and everywhere you live has something to give.”
- Guess the Route by The Most Secret Method
12.02.2004
Jury Duty
I was summoned to jury duty today. Well, not just jury duty…but rather, GRAND jury duty. What is GRAND jury duty you ask? Well, I thought GRAND meant an “elevated civic status”, or, VIP…you know, a green room stocked with fabulous French pastries, gourmet coffee, aromatherapy, foot masseuse, all topped off with no more than one hour of actual “work”. What my naïve mind failed to understand was that serving on a GRAND Jury meant committing to 2 days a week (8hrs a day) for the next 5 months.
Okay, rewind.
When I told friends about my summons, I received a lot of advice on how to get OUT of jury duty. Suggestions included inappropriate social behavior, declaring a talent of spotting guilty people a mile away (by George Carlin, via Allyson), and explaining my aversion to crime scene photos (which reminds me…that drag queen CSI episode was s-c-a-r-y!). All these proposals, while tempting, were ultimately useless against my conscience. I couldn’t do it. So off I went, conscience in tow, to the courthouse for my “interview”.
I was #68 of 70 people called to serve. Of the 70, the judge had to choose 24 for the GRAND jury (16 jurors, 8 alternates). After initially eliminating about 30 people (with questions of physical or financial hardship, the judge called his 24. I hadn’t been called so I thought I was free and clear to leave. That’s when the fire alarm sounded...literally. No biggie, I thought. Well, I forgot that we were on floor 9…the absolute TOP of the building and had to use the stairwell to exit the building. Things went surprisingly smoothly and we were back in the courtroom within about 20 minutes (apparently, the alarm was the due to a neglected bagel on the 3rd floor). So, as I was saying…my name hadn’t been called and I thought I was free to go. Unfortunately, the judge still had questions to ask the 24…these questions meant more people being excused, which meant more people being called, which meant I might become VIP. So for the next hour or so I sat, heart racing, anticipating the lotto. It was very stressful because although I accepted any outcome, I was at the edge of my seat trying to predict who’d drop out. I felt like I was on the Price Is Right (or, rather, the Name Is Wrong) I winced every time someone was excused.
Okay, tangent.
The group dynamics involved in this jury selection were interesting to watch. The judge would ask a question and a number of people would raise their hands, an indication that they wouldn’t be able to serve for some reason. He would then question them to determine the validity of their excuse. I watched as grown adults turned into 7 year olds using the word “um” over and over to explain their excuse like they were talking to their elementary school teacher. Even more disturbing was how, after a couple of rounds of this questioning, more and more people began raising their hands because they “forgot that one time when um, blah blah blah blah, um, blah…that would thereby render them partial”. Um, yeah. All this not only annoyed me, but increased my sitting heart rate to well over 100bpm.
The Finale.
After all the drama (and eyeball rolling), the judge had his 24…and I was one of 5 still left in the pool. He first thanked, and then dismissed us to enjoy our 5 months of freedom. I felt the blood slowly crawl back into my face. I stood up slowly, nodded to the judge, then followed the other 4 lucky winners out the first set of doors. We broke into a sprint out the second set of doors, past the people waiting for the elevators, and back into the stairwell, where we were content to race down 9 floors to freedom.
I still can’t believe I made it through AND I am proud to report that my conscience is still intact:)
Okay, rewind.
When I told friends about my summons, I received a lot of advice on how to get OUT of jury duty. Suggestions included inappropriate social behavior, declaring a talent of spotting guilty people a mile away (by George Carlin, via Allyson), and explaining my aversion to crime scene photos (which reminds me…that drag queen CSI episode was s-c-a-r-y!). All these proposals, while tempting, were ultimately useless against my conscience. I couldn’t do it. So off I went, conscience in tow, to the courthouse for my “interview”.
I was #68 of 70 people called to serve. Of the 70, the judge had to choose 24 for the GRAND jury (16 jurors, 8 alternates). After initially eliminating about 30 people (with questions of physical or financial hardship, the judge called his 24. I hadn’t been called so I thought I was free and clear to leave. That’s when the fire alarm sounded...literally. No biggie, I thought. Well, I forgot that we were on floor 9…the absolute TOP of the building and had to use the stairwell to exit the building. Things went surprisingly smoothly and we were back in the courtroom within about 20 minutes (apparently, the alarm was the due to a neglected bagel on the 3rd floor). So, as I was saying…my name hadn’t been called and I thought I was free to go. Unfortunately, the judge still had questions to ask the 24…these questions meant more people being excused, which meant more people being called, which meant I might become VIP. So for the next hour or so I sat, heart racing, anticipating the lotto. It was very stressful because although I accepted any outcome, I was at the edge of my seat trying to predict who’d drop out. I felt like I was on the Price Is Right (or, rather, the Name Is Wrong) I winced every time someone was excused.
Okay, tangent.
The group dynamics involved in this jury selection were interesting to watch. The judge would ask a question and a number of people would raise their hands, an indication that they wouldn’t be able to serve for some reason. He would then question them to determine the validity of their excuse. I watched as grown adults turned into 7 year olds using the word “um” over and over to explain their excuse like they were talking to their elementary school teacher. Even more disturbing was how, after a couple of rounds of this questioning, more and more people began raising their hands because they “forgot that one time when um, blah blah blah blah, um, blah…that would thereby render them partial”. Um, yeah. All this not only annoyed me, but increased my sitting heart rate to well over 100bpm.
The Finale.
After all the drama (and eyeball rolling), the judge had his 24…and I was one of 5 still left in the pool. He first thanked, and then dismissed us to enjoy our 5 months of freedom. I felt the blood slowly crawl back into my face. I stood up slowly, nodded to the judge, then followed the other 4 lucky winners out the first set of doors. We broke into a sprint out the second set of doors, past the people waiting for the elevators, and back into the stairwell, where we were content to race down 9 floors to freedom.
I still can’t believe I made it through AND I am proud to report that my conscience is still intact:)
12.01.2004
Backwards?
CNN has an article about CBS and NBC banning a United Church of Christ ad about welcoming gays into the church. Unbelievable. I grew up in a UCC church and have always been proud of our all-inclusive doctrine recognizing and welcoming everyone. I remember attending church conferences in Hawaii as a teenager (late 80s) and participating in discussions about gay marriage in the church. It was all very democratic and while there were also UCC members who didn't agree with the church's stance on gay issues, everyone was able to voice their opinions, debate the issues, and then sit down together for a peaceful dinner.
I need to vent. I must call my mother (a UCC minister at Koloa Union Church on Kauai) and discuss this with her. Can I just say how thankful I am for my parents?
Love them.
I need to vent. I must call my mother (a UCC minister at Koloa Union Church on Kauai) and discuss this with her. Can I just say how thankful I am for my parents?
Love them.
